


away ere break of day

by lilithiumwords



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, On the Run, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 05:55:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7879087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithiumwords/pseuds/lilithiumwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Thorin defeated Azog and lived, Bolg saw an opportunity. Bilbo was dragged along for the ride, but in the end he had no regrets, not when it meant Thorin's survival. A story of redemption and forgiveness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	away ere break of day

**Author's Note:**

> This is unfinished. I began writing this after _Battle of the Five Armies_ aired, as an alternate ending to the movie, because so many things remained unsaid between Bilbo and Thorin. I work on this every so often, so updates will be slow. Please enjoy!

When Bilbo heard that an Orc army would come upon Ravenhill, he did not hesitate. He did not let anyone stop him; he only ran after telling Gandalf where he would go. If the Elves were to abandon them, then someone had to warn Thorin and the others. There was no way that Bilbo would ever leave them for dead.

He would never forget the events on that hill, though. Fili in Azog's grip, Kili's fury at the plight of his brother, and Thorin gone chasing after them -- Bilbo could only stand there in a daze, staring up at Azog's vicious sneer, triumphant in his anger. He did not see the massive Orc with his whitened eye behind him; he only felt pain in his head, and then he fell and did not know anything at all.

Bilbo woke shivering; the world was dark, but the cold seeped into his bones, so deep it rattled in his chest with every wheezing breath. He could not move; rope bit into his mouth and bound him tightly. He was resting on a wooden cart that rattled with movement, and when he craned his neck back to the driver, Bilbo saw an Orc, great ridges crawling up its spine along blackened armor. Beyond him rode a tall Orc with a whitened eye and a great scar on his head, his ugly face twisted in hatred as he pushed his Warg forward.

 _No,_ Bilbo thought in terror. He sensed someone beside him, and when he turned his head in dread, his heart jumped into his throat.

Thorin lay still in the cart, eyes closed beneath the blood that had dried on his face. Snow dusted his hair; he looked dead. 

_How did he fall?_

Bilbo made a noise; he did not know what he could have said, but the winter storm stole away the sound of his grief. His gaze swept over that strong nose, the dark lashes brushing bloodied cheeks, hiding the blue, blue eyes that had haunted his dreams for months now -- that Bilbo would never see again, because Thorin was _gone_.

He was captured by Orcs, headed for certain death, and Thorin was dead. He could not comprehend his situation. Bilbo's eyes closed tightly with tears, breathing shallowly. Thorin was gone; Bilbo never should have left him, he should have stayed and tried to save him from the gold, he should have told him how he felt! He should have protected Thorin!

He wondered how Thorin's death might have happened. Had Azog found him? Had Azog's son Bolg done it for him? Bolg, the Orc with the whitened eye, as Gandalf had described him. What would Bolg do with Thorin's body? Where was Azog? What had happened?

Had Thorin died alone? Had he protected Fili and Kili to the end? Bilbo could not see well in the dark; he could not tell what wounds had pierced Thorin's body. He wished to take Thorin's body far away from here, away from these murderous Orcs who would only torture what remained of his flesh. Thorin deserved far more than the callous hunger of a monster; he deserved to return to his family, to his mountain that he had ached so keenly to see for years.

Years now wasted, for Thorin was dead, a king uncrowned.

Bilbo twisted his arms beneath the ropes, but he could hardly move. He did not know if he had his ring; he could not reach his pocket. His head hurt from when he was struck earlier, and the bitter, freezing cold might kill him before the Orcs could. Sting was gone; there was no way an Orc would keep an Elven blade. Bilbo would certainly die soon. He feared how they would kill him.

None of that mattered, though, when Bilbo opened his watery gaze and saw Thorin watching him, blue eyes stretched wide with horror. Bilbo gasped in relief; Thorin was alive!

The Orc driver looked back, but Thorin closed his eyes, tensing. Bilbo saw then that Thorin was bound, but not so tightly as Bilbo was; perhaps the Orcs had believed him dead, too? Whatever the case, Bilbo could not bring himself to care. Thorin was _alive_.

Beside him Thorin shifted minutely, then suddenly the ropes snapped as Thorin heaved his strength into the motion. Then Thorin was leaping up, grabbing a blade from the Orc driver and stabbing into the back of the monster's head. The Orc tipped sideways, limp, and the shaggy horses reared in surprise. The cart jolted, and Bilbo cried out in alarm when he began to slide to the back of the cart.

"Bilbo!" Thorin called out, frantic as he scrambled to grab him, and Bilbo screamed through his rope, _look out_ \-- but Thorin did not see Bolg behind him, slamming the hilt of his weapon into Thorin's head. The Dwarf dropped as a sack of bricks to the floor of the cart, unconscious, blood seeping sluggishly into his dark hair.

The cart stopped as other Orcs righted it and grabbed Thorin, binding him tightly in case he escaped again. Bolg laughed, high and malicious, riding forward into the snowy night, and the cart rattled as it followed.

Bilbo lay still for several minutes, until his heart no longer thudded against his ribs, and he somehow managed to inch over to Thorin, until he could rest his head against Thorin's dark hair. He began to cry again when he heard Thorin's soft, labored breaths, and for a time all he could do was rest, relieved and stressed and so very terrified.

He hardly slept. He knew not how much time passed, and sometimes exhaustion pulled him into a fitful slumber, but always he woke, cold and shivering and with a worsening headache each time he opened his eyes to the grey skies. Always he looked to Thorin's sleeping face and listened for his breathing, and every time he thought he could not hear it, his heart broke. Yet Thorin still lived.

Thorin did not wake for far too long a time in Bilbo's opinion. He seemed to drift in and out of unconsciousness, but he did not open his eyes for long, only fluttered his lids while fighting against the pull of oblivion.

After a blistering cold night, darker to Bilbo than any he had seen during the Fell Winter, dawn broke grey and windy. The clouds hung heavily over the horizon, promising more snow. Mountains rose around them, blocking much of the sky, and Bilbo pressed closer to Thorin's side when he could. Spittle had dried on his face; his mouth hurt from the rope. His chest ached. He was so, so hungry.

He heard the Orcs shouting later, and Bilbo craned his head back to see a great stone structure rising from the mountainside in the distance. The color was odd; it was red, a deep rusty color that reminded Bilbo of blood, smeared across a dirty handkerchief. He shivered at the sight.

His attention drifted to Thorin's face then, when he heard a low grunt at his shoulder. Thorin's eyes opened halfway then quickly found Bilbo's face. They stared at each other for a long moment, and Bilbo could have wept, his relief was so great. 

Thorin looked past him at Bolg, then up at the stronghold growing ever nearer. The Orc barked something to Bolg, who looked back and rode his Warg closer. _"So you live after all, Oakenshield,"_ Bolg growled. Thorin stared back stonily, and Bilbo saw Thorin's hand stretch beneath the ropes, sliding to his leg out of the corner of his eye. 

Just then, the cart rattled to a stop, and Bilbo saw Thorin tense, blue eyes darting past Bilbo as heavy footsteps stomped up behind them. Then Bilbo was heaved up and in the air, held by his coat like a helpless kitten, and he looked up to see Bolg sneering at him.

 _"Take Oakenshield to the tower cages. This one I will keep."_ The crude language of the Orcs grated against Bilbo's ears, and he feared the meaning, though he could understand nothing of what Bolg said. He panicked, though, when Bolg began carrying him away from the cart -- away from Thorin, who roared.

"Let him go!"

Bilbo twisted within his binds, looking past Bolg to see Orcs descending on Thorin's thrashing figure. "Thorin!" he tried to shout, but it came out garbled by the rope. Bolg did not look back, and the last Bilbo saw of Thorin, Orcs had grabbed him up and held his head back, a blade pointed at his neck.

 _No,_ Bilbo cried in his head. Darkness swallowed him and Bolg, lit only by flickering torches. He heard distant growls echoing in the hallway, the walls decorated by dark, oozing liquid, heavy gouges having pierced the stone long ago. They began to descend a long stretch of stairs that curved down into the unknown.

If he could only reach his ring! He tugged his hand back toward his pocket, stretching his fingers beneath the rope, but he could not reach. Bolg sensed his struggling and shook him so hard that Bilbo's vision went grey with dizziness; he could not breathe for a moment.

Bolg held him up, close enough that Bilbo could see the darkened phlem crusted on his mouth. The Orc squinted at him, his good eye glittering with malice, and began to speak again, but then they heard a great crash behind them. Both Bilbo and Bolg jerked their heads back to see Thorin standing at the top of the stairs, breathing heavily as he stared down at them.

"Let. Him. _Go,_ " Thorin snarled, holding out a viciously curved Orc blade. He leapt down the stairs, and Bolg threw Bilbo to the side, pulling his long sword from his belt and rushing up to meet Thorin.

Bilbo shrieked when he hit the wall, sliding down several stairs until he landed on one of the wider steps that turned downward. His head swam and he tried to pull himself up; it hurt to open his eyes. He heard the clash of metal, heard Thorin's breathing and the low growling of Bolg, but he could not focus for several moments. Finally he dragged his eyes open, looking up to see Thorin pressed to the wall, holding Bolg's blade from cutting into his neck.

"Thorin," he cried out, muffled by the rope, and Thorin found some force enough to push Bolg back, slamming him against the opposite wall. Bolg's blade went flying; it clattered down the stairs toward Bilbo, who squeezed his eyes shut in fear. The blade stabbed into his side, and his vision went white.

"BILBO!" Thorin shouted, as if from far away. Bilbo opened his eyes wide and stared up at the darkened ceiling, pain blossoming in his side, but after a moment he realized it was only the pain of being struck, and he had not been stabbed. Thorin's gift had stopped the blade.

Above him, Bilbo heard the squelch of blade upon flesh, and Bolg's snarl cut off. There was silence for but a moment, then Bilbo heard hurried footsteps toward him.

"Bilbo, no," Thorin said frantically, and Bilbo went limp with relief.

Familiar warm hands grasped his shoulders, and Bilbo wept when he opened his eyes to see Thorin, safe and alive. Thorin grabbed Bolg's sword away from Bilbo's body, his hands finding the supposed wound, and then Thorin gave a shuddering sigh to feel only the mithril shirt instead. He took the blade up to cut the rope from Bilbo's face and body, helping him sit up, and for a moment he cupped Bilbo's face, their foreheads pressing together.

"Thorin," Bilbo sobbed, reaching up to grip Thorin's leathers. Thorin's fingers found his side again, where the sword had torn his clothes.

"I thought you lost," Thorin whispered. His blue eyes had darkened with pain, and Bilbo could only wonder at his wounds. He wanted nothing more than to take Thorin away from here and look after him, to keep him safe and hale. "I thought..." 

"I thought you dead," Bilbo said weakly, shaky hands drifting back over Thorin's sides, relieved to feel him, to press against his warmth. He pressed his nose to Thorin's neck again, his shoulders hitching as he tried to contain his crying. Thorin embraced him for a long moment, so tightly that he squeezed Bilbo's ribs and made him gasp in pain.

Thorin let go of him immediately, his hands gentle again upon Bilbo's sides, examining him for wounds as best he could in their close quarters. "You are wounded," Thorin worried, and Bilbo grimaced.

"Just a few bruises. You must be worse off," he exclaimed, his gaze dropping to search the tears in Thorin's clothes. Thorin's chainmail should have protected him, but the thick leather was ripped and stained with blood. He could see no major wounds, nothing that looked fatal or infected, but still he fretted.

"I am well enough. Come, let us leave this foul place," Thorin muttered, his hand sliding down to grip Bilbo's wrist, then his hand. The warmth of his palm spread to Bilbo's face; he had to duck his head, his vision swimming for a moment. He hid the tears in Thorin's shoulder.

"Where are we?" Bilbo asked after a moment, hushed, pulling away and standing with a pained flinch. Thorin supported him, his broad hand resting at Bilbo's hip as they stood together, and he glanced behind them at Bolg's body, his grip tightening on Bilbo's hand.

"It must be Gundabad. Once a holy place, the birthright of our ancestors. Now it is overrun by Orcs most foul. Azog's ilk, remnants of an older evil. Come," Thorin said to him, low and gentle, and he squeezed Bilbo's hand and began to lead him upward.

Bilbo wanted to ask how Thorin had been caught, what had happened to the others, how the war had gone; but he could not dare. They had too little time.

They heard shouting above, then, and firelight grew brighter at the top of the stairs. Thorin cursed under his breath in Khuzdul and pulled Bilbo back, edging down the stairs again. "We must find another way," he whispered, and he paused by Bolg's body, pulling a small dagger from the Orc's side and giving it to Bilbo. Orcrist was gone as Sting was; they had nothing else.

Then they were running down the stairs, terror pumping in Bilbo's ears, but the warmth of Thorin's hand gave him courage. Thorin pulled him into a hallway at the bottom, and the first Orc they saw, he slaughted with Bolg's blade. Bilbo turned his gaze away from the spray of black blood; another memory for his nightmares. 

They saw light ahead; and onward they ran, ducking through doorways until they came upon another stairwell that led upward. Bilbo gasped for air as they paused by the stairs, Thorin looking over his head to watch for any Orcs behind them. "Upwards, and then we will escape," he said to Bilbo, their eyes meeting briefly. Bilbo could only nod, following Thorin when he began to climb the stairs.

The stairs ended at a long hallway, and at the end of it loitered several goblins. Thorin ducked back before they could be seen, and Bilbo held back a whimper as he bumped into Thorin's shoulder, his other hand gripping his dagger tightly.

"Ready?" Thorin whispered, his breath hot against Bilbo's ear as he squeezed their fingers again. Bilbo breathed in deeply and squeezed back, then let go of Thorin's hand and nodded.

"I'm right behind you," Bilbo whispered back. Then Thorin was running down the hall, and Bilbo followed right after him, swinging the dagger as he would have Sting at every goblin that rushed him. Thorin stayed at his side, protecting him with Bolg's blade, and between the two of them, the group of goblins was quickly defeated.

"Come," Thorin said, grabbing Bilbo's hand again and running toward the end of the hall, which shone with greyish daylight. They were nearly free!

The two broke free of the stronghold then, and they did not stop even though they saw no Orcs. It had begun to snow. Thorin pulled him off the road and Bilbo followed, quick on their feet together. They fled through the snow, into the mountains that neither had ever traversed before, but there was no other path but the road they could not follow, for fear of Orcs running them down.

Orc horns sounded from the stronghold of Gundabad, but the two prisoners of war had already escaped.

~

Together Bilbo and Thorin ran for hours, stopping every so often to suck on clumps of snow for water and to catch their breath. The snow still fell, and they could hear no one chasing them; yet they did not stop until Thorin deemed it safe enough.

They finally halted when the snow fell too thick for them to see more than a few feet from their faces, when Bilbo's chest had grown tight from running for so long. Thorin let him catch his breath for a few moments, his hand rubbing Bilbo's back as he bent over.

"I should not have pushed you so hard," Thorin said to himself, but Bilbo held out a hand, wheezing.

"No, no! I'm fine, just need a moment," Bilbo gasped, his fingers gripping Thorin's sleeve. Oh, but his ribs hurt! He needed to stand quietly for a few minutes, taking bits of snow from the grass on the stone wall beside them and drinking down the water as it melted in his mouth. Thorin watched him with a dark, hooded gaze, standing close enough that his warmth pressed against Bilbo's chest and arm.

"We must find shelter and get our bearings. Can you walk?" Thorin asked worriedly, and Bilbo nodded, breathing in deeply and wincing. Thorin's gaze jerked down to his chest, but Bilbo started forward again, wrapping his arms around himself to hold off the shivers. Thorin followed after a moment, passing Bilbo and leaving deep boot prints in the snow, that Bilbo stepped into with some relief.

He tried to scan the horizon, to search through the thick snow, but Bilbo could see little through the storm, and he was beginning to shake all over, his teeth chattering. He hardly noticed where they were going, until finally Thorin grabbed his arm and began to pull him through the falling snow, to a crevice in the stone.

Thorin went first, and Bilbo squeezed through after him, breathing the stale air in gratefully. A cave stretched back into the mountainside, dark and cold, but it was dry, and as they walked deeper into the cave, the cold subsided just enough that Bilbo could relax.

Thorin turned back to him, his eyes widening at Bilbo's shivering state, and his large hands tugged at Bilbo's wet coat, pushing it off his shoulders. "You're freezing," he said in alarm, and Bilbo snuffled and leaned forward into Thorin's chest.

"You're hardly any better," he mumbled, and Thorin scowled at him. He led Bilbo over to the dry cave wall and set him to rest against the cool stone. Sometime in the movement, Bilbo closed his eyes -- he was so tired! -- but he sensed Thorin's keen eye on him, so he opened his eyes and found Thorin kneeling in front of him, his knee close to Bilbo's side. Thorin laid his hand on Bilbo's face, blue eyes searching his trembling features.

"I will be right back, Bilbo. Do not yet sleep, do you understand? I will return. Will you promise me?" Thorin asked, his deep voice low and urgent, and Bilbo made a face at him.

But Thorin looked ready to lecture him again, so Bilbo quickly said, "Yes, I promise, I won't sleep," tiredly, his voice stretched thin. Thorin held his gaze for a moment, then leaned in. Something soft as silk brushed Bilbo's forehead; he felt the scrape of Thorin's beard on his curls. A moment later, Thorin was gone, heavy boots muted by the sandy floor.

Bilbo watched him leave the cave with wide eyes, his heart pounding in his chest, reeling from the kiss. Well, he certainly would not sleep now!

When Thorin returned carrying an armful of sticks and underbrush, Bilbo sat still, huddled with his arms crossed around his legs. The memory of Thorin's lips on his brow tormented him, which perhaps had been Thorin's intention; he had not fallen asleep.

When Thorin knelt down beside him, laying down his armful and beginning to sort the dryest of the wood into a small stack to burn, Bilbo took a deep breath, questions on his lips and hope in his throat. He caught Thorin's quick glance and faltered, his cheeks flushing hot. 

"Do you have anything in your pockets?" Thorin asked quietly as he worked. Bilbo hummed thoughtfully, glad for the distraction, and reached for the coat Thorin had removed, reaching inside it to fish out what he could find, then searching his other pockets as well.

"A few things, I think... hm, some twine and flint, some tobacco, my pipe... Oh, lovely, I tucked away some jerky as well." His face flushed again when Thorin looked at him in question, bemused. "I get hungry sometimes, okay? It still looks good. A dagger Nori gave me, here in my vest... oh, and," Bilbo faltered, his fingers brushing the gold ring.

"My ring," he said blankly, his gaze darting up to Thorin.

_Even though he fears the power in its coil of gold, he puts it on anyway, because he must save his friend, his companion, his king -- no matter what evil seeps into his soul, his heart remains intent on saving Thorin. Only for Thorin._

Thorin frowned at him, glancing from the pile Bilbo had produced to his hand, which remained in his pocket. "Your ring?" Thorin said no more, but across his face passed thoughts that Bilbo read too easily. _Why else would I have a ring, but for marriage or bonding?_ Bilbo hastened to reassure him.

"Oh, no, it's a magic ring I picked up," he explained quickly, then covered his mouth, a little shocked he had told Thorin so easily. He had kept the ring secret so long, months of anxious worrying over if it was right, if it was a good ring, if it was hurting him. Yet of anybody else in the Company, Bilbo trusted Thorin the most, even after what had happened before the battle. He had never doubted Thorin, only the madness in his mind -- the madness which, thankfully, seemed to have fled Thorin's thoughts.

"A magic ring," Thorin replied, his voice flat with disbelief. 

Bilbo lifted his gaze, sheepish, and observed Thorin's skeptical expression. "The creature I told you about, Gollum? This was how I escaped him. It... well, I'll just show you," he finished quietly, glancing down at the ring, anxious to put it on again. Then he slipped the gold band on, and he looked up when Thorin shouted in alarm, jumping up and staring down at where Bilbo sat, blue eyes stretched wide.

Bilbo quickly took the ring off again, reappearing before Thorin's eyes, and he could not look up again, turning the ring over in his palm. "I wasn't sure how to tell anybody," he said to his hands. Thorin remained standing, tense before him, and Bilbo's chest ached to know that he had upset him. "I used it to sneak around in Thranduil's kingdom, and to take the Arkenstone to Dale." Then Bilbo closed his mouth tightly, his jaw clenching.

They had not spoken yet of his deceit nor of Thorin's madness, of anything that had happened in the battle or before. Bilbo could not bring himself to continue, now that he had brought up that dreaded jewel and the strife it had wrought. Thorin's words on the rampart rang in his ears -- _"You have no claim over me!"_

A moment passed, and Thorin sank to his knees in front of Bilbo again, head bowed. Bilbo dared to glance up, but Thorin's gaze was on the ring in his hand. "Here we had thought you were simply quick on your feet, and perhaps you are," Thorin murmured. He did not look up at Bilbo. "This is a surprise, though. A lucky find."

Bilbo shrugged, his gaze dropping again. "I burgled it, more like," he muttered, recalling Gollum screaming at him. He tucked the ring back into his pocket. Thorin said nothing in response, instead picking up the flint and going to work at starting the fire.

Silence settled heavily around them, and Bilbo was relieved when the fire flared up, brightening the cave. Thorin carefully fed sticks and underbrush to the flames, building the embers, until it was sufficient enough to warm them both. Bilbo curled up before the fire, holding his trembling hands out until the heat seared them. 

Thorin laid out their meager supplies: a collection of flint and tinder from them both, three daggers in addition to the Orc weapons they had stolen, a bag of coin from Thorin's boot, the twine, Bilbo's pipe and tobacco, a canteen, and the bundle of jerky. They might have used the dried meat to make a stew, to stretch the rations, but without any sort of pot, there was little else to do but eat it. 

Thorin offered Bilbo a piece, and he took it gratefully, sucking on the meat as he stared at the fire. His shivering had mostly abated, but he was still fretfully cold. At least his clothes had somewhat dried.

Bilbo was startled when Thorin sat down heavily beside him, looking as exhausted as Bilbo felt. Bilbo watched the muscles in his cheek shift beneath the firelight as he chewed, until he realized he was staring and looked down again, his ears burning. He had no right to look, now. Not after how he had betrayed his friend, even if it had been to save him.

"We should rest a while," Thorin said to him, his long hair falling back as he looked toward the cave entrance. "I fear we have traveled further north than east now, but if we are careful, we may avoid the Orcs that will undoubtedly hunt us. Do you recall how long we traveled?"

Bilbo shook his head, surreptitiously leaning closer to Thorin's furnace-like warmth. "No, I was unconscious for a long while yet, and the days bled together. It could have been weeks, for all I paid attention. I was..." -- _too worried for you,_ he could not say.

"I see," Thorin replied, his voice almost too low for Bilbo to hear. "Bilbo..."

"It's getting dark out," Bilbo murmured. He was tired, so tired; Thorin's side was warm, and his chest did not hurt so much now. He did not control his mouth, then, when he spoke next, though his words made Thorin stiffen. "You know, Thorin... you still have a claim on me. Even if I cannot ask your forgiveness... though I wish it so..."

When Thorin said his name again, voice hushed with awe, Bilbo was already asleep.

~

He drifted from sleep into a shivering state, his back cold and his front hardly better. The fire had died down to embers, and Thorin was lying on his side facing Bilbo, his eyes closed, looking uncomfortable.

Bilbo sat up and crept closer to the embers, seeking their remaining heat. The movement woke Thorin, who sat up halfway in alarm, but he relaxed when he saw only Bilbo. As Thorin shifted to sit beside him, he caught Bilbo's arm.

"What is it?" he asked, voice hushed, but Bilbo shook his head.

"Just cold," he murmured in reply. Thorin's attention left his skin tingling, but Thorin did not reply; instead he pulled off his own heavy coat, then he stood to fetch Bilbo's coat hanging over a rock, thankfully now dry. When he returned he knelt beside Bilbo, his glittering gaze dark as he looked down upon Bilbo's confused expression.

"I dare not light a fire so late, so for now, will you lie with me?" Thorin asked, and then Bilbo witnessed something truly spectacular; Thorin blushed. "I mean, not..."

To save him the embarrassment, Bilbo laid down on the same spot again, looking to the heated embers. "Alright," he whispered, face burning, and after a moment, Thorin laid down behind him, pressing his chest to Bilbo's back and laying the two coats over their prone bodies. A thick, hot arm looped around Bilbo's waist, and he shivered, closing his eyes tightly as he felt Thorin's breath on the back of his neck.

Moments passed, but Bilbo did not sleep, aware of every inch of warmth pressing against his back.

"I had worried during the battle, that we might part ways without you knowing the truth of how I felt toward you." Thorin's voice carried low across Bilbo's ear, and he lay stiff in Thorin's arms, his eyes wide as he stared at the glowing embers.

"Thorin," Bilbo tried to say, but Thorin hushed him, his hand sliding up to rest over Bilbo's chest.

"Let me speak," Thorin asked of him, rough around the edges with desperation. "I cannot let this go on any longer, master burglar, without making peace with you. I was blinded by my ambition. I could not see you for what you remained above all else. A true friend," he whispered, hushed with emotion. 

Bilbo's eyes were wet, and he gasped, wishing to turn around. Instead he reached up to grip Thorin's wrist, his heart beating fast beneath Thorin's gentle fingers.

"I should have not dragged you into such perils, both known and unknown," Thorin told him, his voice breaking, and Bilbo shook his head frantically.

"No! I am glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin, all of them," Bilbo replied, tightening his grip on Thorin's wrist. He turned half onto his back to face Thorin, finding his gaze in the darkness. "That is more than any Baggins deserves."

Thorin stared at him, his hand resting over Bilbo's heart, caught by Bilbo's earnest words. "I should not have brought you here," he whispered wretchedly, and Bilbo shook his head, reaching up with his other hand to brush his thumb over Thorin's face. 

"I wouldn't have let you leave me. I couldn't then, and I won't now. If you are asking for my forgiveness, Thorin Oakenshield, then you have it, a hundred times if you must ask again. You were not yourself," Bilbo told him, his voice shaking as he allowed them to speak of what was passed.

Thorin's gaze widened, then darkened with grief and agony. Bilbo saw the hatred in him, the shame for how he had behaved, and Thorin said to him, "I am sorry for my words and deeds at the gate," voice raw with emotion. Bilbo's gaze grew wet again, and he touched a finger to Thorin's lips, his heart beating faster when Thorin's eyes widened.

"Then I must say it again: you are forgiven, Thorin. No, please listen, alright? I know not how you came back to yourself, but I am glad for it. I am sorry, too," he whispered, his gaze dropping, but he kept his finger against Thorin's lips when his mouth moved to speak. "I did betray you then, and I hated myself for it, for hiding the Arkenstone when you would search for nothing else. I thought if you had it, though, you might never be yourself again, and I could not give you up for it."

Lifting his head then, Bilbo met Thorin's gaze, sorrowful that they had been torn apart in such ways. "I am sorry," he said again, and he had to look away as his eyes welled up with tears, taking his hand from Thorin's face and rubbed his knuckle against his eye, trying to wipe at the tears.

Thorin's hand caught his wrist and gently tugged it back, and Bilbo looked up to see Thorin leaning over him, his thumb brushing away Bilbo's tears. For a moment Bilbo thought of Thorin's rage, his hands gripping bruises into Bilbo's neck as he dangled him over the wall, but the image faded, and Bilbo only saw the Dwarf that he loved so dearly.

Thorin's smile, as familiar and beautiful as it had been rare these past weeks in Erebor, caught Bilbo's breath in wonder, for all that the expression was solemn. "I never doubted you," Thorin murmured. "Even when I was lost in my own mind, I could not think the worst of you. Apologize not, master burgler, for you did nothing wrong. All was my fault."

"Thorin," Bilbo whispered, his heart pulsing in his throat. He could not breathe for fear of scaring this moment away; it was more than he ever could have wished to have.

Thorin's gaze softened beyond measure, and his thumb brushed Bilbo's lips. "Of all my kin and allies, you have the only claim over me, the only one that mattered in the end," he whispered, and Bilbo's breath caught.

Oh, how he wished to tell Thorin his feelings! His true feelings, the careful love he had nursed and hidden for months, that left him shaking sometimes at the force of it. The love that had driven him to hold the Arkenstone from Thorin's grip; the love that had kept him at Thorin's side when all others had forsaken him.

He did not dare say the words. Not when Thorin had finally forgiven him and wished to remain his friend. He could not lose that dear friendship.

"I am glad," Bilbo said instead, reaching to cover Thorin's hand, "that you have returned to yourself. I worried," he faltered, squeezing his eyes closed against the tears.

"Rest easy now, master burglar. I will not leave you again," Thorin murmured to him, letting go of his face and wrapping his arm around Bilbo's waist. Bilbo nodded, unable to say anything else, and shifted to face Thorin, curling up against him and sighing deeply. Thorin pulled him closer, and Bilbo felt safe, protected, even loved, though the last was only in his imagination.

"Thorin," he murmured sleepily, relaxing into their shared warmth. Thorin did not let him go.


End file.
